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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25271515">Negative Space</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/NuclearNik/pseuds/NuclearNik'>NuclearNik</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Grief/Mourning, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:07:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>669</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25271515</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/NuclearNik/pseuds/NuclearNik</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>George lets himself into the flat above Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and allows himself a moment of remembering.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Career Day: A Dumbledore's Armada Flash Fic Competition</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Negative Space</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">



        <li>In response to a prompt by
            Anonymous in the <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Career_Day">Career_Day</a>
          collection.
        </li>
    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for the Career Day Flash Comp. Prompt -  shopkeeper. </p><p>Joint winner: Acing the Interview - Best Characterization</p><p>Thank you to my beautiful beta, weestarmeggie &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The days when excited customers fill the shop—chaos abounding among squeals of delight and haggard parents trying to corral their children—are George's favourite days.</p><p>When it's busy, the tightness in his chest eases just a bit, just enough for him to focus on something other than the negative space beside him where his brother should be.</p><p>Bright colours and the repetitive <em> ding </em> of the till consume his senses all day long. </p><p>Until the clock strikes nine.</p><p>Every night at nine, he shutters the windows, locks the doors, and lets the darkness that nips at his heels all day crash over him.</p><p>He doesn't live upstairs anymore. He can't. After Ron’s break up with Hermione, George gave the space to his youngest brother; a place of his own, no matter how tiny it is.</p><p>But tonight Ron is out, and as George stares up the shabby stairs leading to the flat, its pockmarked door cast in shadows, he feels a tug at the worn, nearly shredded thread connecting him to the part of himself he lost forever.</p><p>So he climbs the stairs and pushes open the door, the cool brass of the handle grounding him.</p><p>The space is much the same—mismatched furniture and lumpy throw pillows, a half-filled mug of tea on the kitchen counter.</p><p>Ron is so like Fred in that way. Unrepentantly messy. It had driven George crazy most of their lives, but he’d give his left arm to have the mess back.</p><p>To have Fred back.</p><p>It is twilight, and the one-room flat is tinted in a cool wash of soft blue. As he sinks onto the faded couch, George allows himself a moment of nostalgia.</p><p>He closes his eyes and lets the memories come: his brother’s head popping out around the door of the bathroom sporting bright magenta locks from the serum George slipped into the shampoo, and the sound of his laugh when Fred retaliated, cursing George to spend an entire day sporting a lion’s mane. </p><p>He sees the two of them, parchment spread out across the coffee table and most of the floor, as they brainstormed ideas for new products until the wee hours of the morning when the sun started to shine in through the windows. Without fail, Fred would grumble every time, pulling a blanket over his head and cursing the sun for daring to assault his eyeballs.</p><p>When he walks to the wardrobe, he finds Ron’s clothes hanging there, any remnants of Fred’s existence gone. Except for…</p><p>George’s eye catches on dark green fabric, and he carefully sifts through the clothes, grasping a wooden hanger holding a fuzzy jumper.</p><p>There is an <em> F </em>decorating the front, a design lovingly crafted by their mum ages ago and given as a Christmas gift. He pulls it free and gathers it in his hands, bringing it to his face. Inhaling deeply, he smiles; it still smells like his brother, like that ridiculous cologne he’d bought from some fancy shop in Diagon that he swore up and down was irresistible to witches.</p><p>The very same cologne that they’d found out Katie Bell was allergic to when Fred had doused himself in it and tried to take the poor girl on a nice date that ended at the incredibly unromantic St. Mungo’s when she’d broken into hives.</p><p>Months ago, George and his siblings had gone through the attic of their family home and cleaned it up. Rubbish got thrown away and anything that held memories of Fred was distributed among the six of them.</p><p>He thought that was the last of it. Finding this now, so random and serendipitous, feels <em> important. </em> It’s like a friendly shoulder nudge or elbow jab from his brother, reminding him that however alone he may feel, the person that shared his face is never far away, never completely and totally gone.</p><p>Living on in George’s memories is a subpar prize compared to his brother <em> being </em> alive, but somehow, it makes the wound just a tiny bit less agonising.</p>
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